You are already weak before I even begin. Watching, waiting exactly how I trained you to be.
I take control slowly, guiding every movement, every reaction. You don’t move without my permission.
Good boys wait. Good boys obey.
Your focus locks on my perfect soles wrapped in fishnets, your biggest weakness, impossible to resist.
I tease you, building that tension, making you more desperate, more obedient with every second.
Slow strokes, controlled, exactly how I want. You follow my rhythm, my voice, my rules.
No rushing. No release. Not yet.
I push you closer and closer to the edge, watching you lose control while you still try to hold it together.
You’re addicted to this feeling, to my feet, my voice, my power over you.
And when I finally allow it, you give in completely.
